Kidnap
by Xenitha
Summary: Scott attends a reunion of his old squadron with dangerous results. Scott whump. Chapters will be published weekly til story complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Kidnap

**Rating:** FRT, for some swearing and violence. Scott Whump with angst for flavor.

**Teaser:** Scott goes to a reunion of his old Air Force squadron with dangerous results.

**Disclaimer:** The Tracys aren't mine, they (and all the other characters originally in Thunderbirds) were created by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and are now the property of Granada Ventures. I am only borrowing them for a little while and promise to brush off the lint before I hand them back.  
><strong>Author's<strong>**Note:** This will be posted as a work in progress, translation: a WIP. I truly enjoy wip-ping my readers

**Feedback:** Yes, please. I write for feedback!

Okay to Archive: Yes!

Chapter 1

Bob's Rib House San Diego, California

Monday night

"Jeeze, Tracy!" The big man slapped Scott's back with a resounding thump. "We never see you anymore! This is the first reunion you've been able to make! Do you have to stay hidden on that island of yours?"

Scott grinned and dodged the next drunken back-slap. "I would if I could, Cooper, but I'm kinda busy. Y'know, the family business…"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard all about that before. You gotta keep in good with your Dad and inherit the business some day,"

Slater approached and looked down his nose at both Scott and Cooper. "Remember, RichKid, I told you that you should've taken that job with NASA. You'd be in space right now, flying rockets. But no, family calls."

Cooper rubbed his nose, "C'mon, Slater, we decided a long time ago that Tracy was okay, even if his Dad's loaded. He's just Tracy now and has been for a long time."

Slater slugged back some beer, "Sorry about that, Tracy. You're a stand-up guy and that's the truth. But, you shoulda stayed in the Air Force and you'd be a bigwig by now, not just a siding salesman like me."

Scott held a hand up. "We've been over all this before, guys. I'm happy on my tropical island, thanks. As it happens, I don't want to be an astronaut. I've got my own aircraft and I get enough flying in as it is." He looked at his watch and set down his beer. "Anyway, I need to get going. I have some company business I have to take care of tomorrow anyway." He grinned. "But don't worry, I'll be at the next squadron reunion and what's more, I'll pay for the beer!" He grabbed his jacket and exchanged bear hugs with his buddies at the table. He made his way out of the restaurant and waved goodbye as he passed the window, the sound of his buddies' raucous laughter ringing in his ears.

Scott Tracy whistled as he made his way to his hotel. It was a beautiful San Diego night, the air came soft from the Pacific Ocean and even though it was winter time, the night was still Southern California comfortable. He missed the Air Force, most of the guys in his squadron had all gone on to become officers, those who didn't fly commercial jets. He was grateful that he hadn't run into any of them in his role as pilot for International Rescue. His cover would be shattered if he happened to rescue a flight piloted by an old buddy of his.

Oh well, that possibility was remote and he'd faced it before as had the rest of his already famous family. It was just as likely some racing fan would recognize Alan or an Olympics geek would recognize Gordon. So far, so good. Nobody had yet managed to break the family's cover as International Rescue.

Well, tomorrow he'd be doing some of his father's errands. There was a new part he needed to pick up at the machine-shop. Part of a new engine system for Thunderbird One that would make her faster and more fuel efficient. Brains had been insistent that this delicate part be picked up and hand-carried home, not shipped, no matter how well-packed. Then, a stop at Tracy Enterprises to pick up some confidential files for his father, something about trade secrets. Scott shrugged. He supposed that someday he and his brothers would end up running the company, but he truly hoped that wouldn't be for many years yet.

He looked up at the bright sign, "San Diego Hilton-Astoria", yep it was his hotel. He made his way up to his room, got to the elevator and punched the button for the 25th floor. A second man joined him in the elevator and selected the 30th, then stared into space ignoring Scott's presence.

The elevator was silent until the doors opened at 25. Scott got out and headed for his room, then noticed vaguely that the other man had gotten off the elevator too. He felt his shoulders tense. This didn't feel right. He scanned the hallway that ended in his room, a cul de sac. He didn't have any weapons; maybe he was overreacting…He reached for his electronic card-key and swiped it hurriedly. The door opened and Scott rushed inside, into the arms of another man.

The guy was big, Asian and at least three inches taller than Scott's six feet two and must have weighed 400 pounds. As the Asian grabbed at him, Scott elbowed him in the eye, then dove to his left to avoid the man's hands. A second body tackled him from behind and both pulled him to the ground, grunting with the force.

"I thought you said he was just a pilot, Pete?" said the big man, joining the struggle. "He's sure a damned fighter!" Scott felt the big man hold his shoulder down, and a meaty fist began to pound his chest. Scott felt himself begin to weaken as he gasped for breath.

"Just hold him down while I give him the drug, okay?" muttered the other man, Pete, as Scott supposed. The big man stopped punching and held Scott down while Pete fished a hypodermic out of his pocket. "Don't worry, flyboy, this won't hurt a bit!" Pete said and jabbed it into Scott's neck.

"Hey! Who the Hell are you?" yelled Scott. "Whaaaaaa…" his voice faded away as darkness overtook him. The last thing he heard was "Well, he better by damned be worth it. The bastard broke my watch!"

Hours later

Scott awoke into a darkness that smelled of motor oil and old garbage. His hands were zip-tied behind his back and, he tried to move, yes his ankles too. What the Hell had happened? Two men…his hotel room. Crap, he'd been kidnapped. His head was covered with a bag that felt like burlap, but he could feel the motion of travel and hear traffic passing. On a freeway, he thought. How long had he been out? No way of knowing, but he'd been well trained. He reached for his watch to activate a tracking signal…and found the watch gone.

They had taken his watch. His family couldn't track him now; they'd never know where he'd disappeared to. "Hey!" he shouted angrily. "Who the Hell are you and what's going on?"

"So, sleeping beauty is awake finally," a rough voice came from beside him. What was his name? Pete. "Don't make me wish we'd gagged you, Tracy, or you'll regret it." A laugh. "The boss thought you'd be stubborn, but you gave Loyo a black eye. He's not happy about that."

Scott consciously gulped down his outrage and lowered his voice. "Okay, you're the one in control here. Would you mind telling me what it is you want from me? Maybe I can get you whatever it is you want and you can let me go. My wallet is in my pants pocket, you're welcome to it if you want it."

The other man laughed hoarsely. "We don't want your wallet. Why do you think we bothered knocking you out so we could smuggle you out of the hotel? We want you! We should be there soon and you'll meet the boss. I know he's been looking forward to seeing you!"

Wednesday

Jeff Tracy was grateful for an age that allowed him to run a large conglomerate from his home on Tracy Island. If he'd had to go into an office on a daily basis, he knew it would have driven him crazy long since. TinTin made a great secretary, he had a direct computer connection to the company mainframes and with a daily mail plane, he could accomplish most of what needed to be done without travelling to his main office in Los Angeles. The phone on his desk buzzed and he hit the button.

"Jeff Tracy. Can I help you?" he said.

A thin, dark haired man in a suit appeared on the screen, his demeanor saying 'corporate lawyer'.

"Hey, Jeff, it's Irwin at the home office. Can you tell us when your son is going to pick up those documents for your signature? He didn't show up yesterday, even though the office staff stayed late waiting for him."

Jeff frowned. Scott knew that the documents had time value and had planned to get them by Tuesday afternoon at the latest. And Scott was reliable. "Did you hear from him at all?" he asked.

"Not a word. We did try calling him at the number you gave us, but there was no answer. And his hotel said he'd left already. Should I have these couriered over to you after all?"

"We have a few more days on it, don't we? I'll call you back. I may send a different courier to pick them up but I'll confirm with you first. Tracy out." Jeff Tracy stared at the blank screen for a moment or two. Scott was reliable but accidents did happen….He pushed another button on the desk and put through a call to Scott and got no answer. His next call was to John on Thunderbird Five.

"Hi, Father," said John's picture, "What's up?"

"Have you heard from Scott, by any chance, in the last day or two?" Jeff asked, trying to keep his voice calm. No point in worrying yet. Scott was a grown man and was allowed to have a weekend bender if he wanted to…

John frowned, "No, nothing lately. Wasn't this going to be his big weekend with his old squadron? Is something wrong?"

Jeff shook his head, "No, we've just lost contact with him, that's all. He's probably sleeping off his fun somewhere."

"That's not like Scott, Father," John said. "He's never been much of a drinker and he's never out of touch with base for very long. Do you want me to keep an ear out for him?"

"I'd appreciated that, John," Jeff said. "Let me know if you hear anything. I'm sure it's nothing very serious…he's just delayed."

"FAB, Father. I'll let you know if I hear anything at all," said John and signed out.

"What's going on?" asked Alan, wandering through the lounge with tennis racquet in hand. "Is Scott okay?"

"What? Yes, I'm sure he is," Jeff turned to his youngest son. "I'm just overreacting a bit, that's all. So, you're still trying to beat Gordon?"

Alan smirked. "Oh yeah, Gord won't know what hit him when he sees my new overhand. I'll see you later, Dad."

Jeff waved as Alan left the room and turned back to his papers, but for the life of him couldn't shake a niggling little doubt in the back of his mind. He put through a call to the Hilton-Astoria Hotel in San Diego.

"Oh yes, Mr. Tracy, Scott Tracy was here for the weekend. His room was vacated early Tuesday morning. He left a note asking that his luggage be held for pick up," the hotel manager said fawningly. "You know that we greatly value your family's business and will do our best to ensure a memorable stay."

"Was Scott with anyone the day he left?" Jeff asked, hopefully. "Old friends or anyone? Did he tell anyone where he was going?"

"No, sir, he just left a note. No one saw him leave that I'm aware of. I can pull the security video if you'd like," the hotel manager began to look nervous. Had they displeased this very wealthy (and lucrative) customer?

"Yes, please queue it up," said Jeff crisply. "And I'd like to talk to your hotel security manager."

The film was grainy. Jeff wondered if anyone produced a good quality security video, but he could make out the man following Scott from the elevator and then pushing him into his hotel room. The door slammed shut behind them both. Running the tape forward two hours showed two men hauling a third down the hall and into the elevator. Jeff Tracy took a deep breath and let it out. That was it, then. Somebody had Scott, and had held him for two days. God only knew what could have happened to him in the intervening time.

The Tracy sons, Brains, Kyrano and Tintin all came running to the lounge at the sound of the emergency buzzer. Virgil was there first, skidding to a stop at the desk. He hadn't seen his father looking this grim for a very long time. "What's wrong, Father?" Virgil asked, looking around as Alan and Gordon arrived panting for breath. Jeff said nothing until John's picture lit up. "I'm here, Father. What is it?" John said.

"Are we under attack or something?" Alan demanded. "You only ring that buzzer when there's a dire emergency. Are we on fire?"

"Boys, I'm very afraid that your brother Scott has been kidnapped by persons unknown. He's been gone since late Monday night, which puts it at two days since he was taken," Jeff's voice faltered.

"Has there been a ransom demand?" Virgil asked. "Who would want to take Scott?"

Jeff's face grew graver, "That's just what worries me. There has been no ransom demand, which makes me think that they want him for something other than money."

All four Tracy sons went silent, exchanging meaningful glances. No one wanted to say it, but it was on everyone's mind. Brains finally broke the silence. "Scott helped m-me d-d-design Thunderbird One. He knows…"

"Too much," whispered Virgil. "He knows too much, including the location of this island."

"He wouldn't tell," Alan stated angrily. "He'd die before he gave away International Rescue secrets."

Jeff Tracy looked sadly at his sons, "Any man can be forced to tell his secrets, given enough time and…persuasion. No," he raised his hand at Alan's protest. "He's strong and has had training in the military to withstand questioning but even if he survives the experience, he may not be the Scott we know anymore. We have to find him, fast! Brains?"

"Y-y-yes, Mr. Tracy?" Brains asked.

"I want you to examine the security video that shows both of Scott's kidnappers. Virgil, I want you and Alan to fly to San Diego. Search through Scott's luggage, interview his Air Force buddies and examine the note they said Scott left. Look for anything, anything that might tell you where they took him and who they are."

He looked up at John's worried face, "John, I want you to comb the internet for anything you can find out about Scott's kidnapping. Run background checks on the hotel employees. Follow up on Scott's squadron buddies. Until Scott is found, International Rescue is grounded."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Location: Unknown

Wednesday

Scott peered through the darkness again, frustrated that even after so many hours he still couldn't see his surroundings clearly. He'd been dumped into a room with bare floors and boarded windows. With his hands restrained, it had taken a while to get the hood off his head, only to discover that there was nothing to see.

He finally had managed to break the plastic holding his hands together, then had worked his feet free. His shoes had been taken, as had his jacket and wallet, after all. In stocking feet, he paced his prison. It was a single room with wooden floors. The door was all too solid metal, fastened firmly shut. He couldn't even get at the hinges to take it apart….A side door led to a bathroom with window also boarded shut from the outside with metal shutters. All the windows were shuttered with metal.

It had been at least a day, that was what his stomach had been telling him. No one answered his yells or brought food. He had water from the bathroom sink, but that was about it. He could hear birds outside, possibly a remote forested place? He tried to recall the map of California. A good chunk of Northern California was covered with forests, not to mention Nevada and even parts of Mexico. He sighed. He could be almost anywhere.

He tried to stay calm. Someone must have noticed his absence by now; Father would be calling out the troops. Why was he here? International Rescue and its operatives were attractive plums for criminal organizations; the possibility of being kidnapped for IR secrets was an acknowledged danger of his job. He tried to remember the training he'd had on captivity and torture. It hadn't been pleasant, the primary goal had been to make the subject afraid and to teach him how to handle that fear as well as physical pain. There was no telling what the kidnappers had in mind. Scott closed his eyes against the dark room and tried to bolster his confidence, wishing vaguely that International Rescue were the kind of outfit that supplied its agents with a suicide pill. No, don't think of that. He repeated to himself like a mantra… This may not even be about International Rescue…Maybe they just want money…. Don't panic. I don't know what's going to happen…and that's the problem. Deep breath. At least it's just me and not any of my brothers, too. Be grateful for small blessings. I can face whatever comes, I'll manage and they'll find me. .Father will find me…

He was dozing when he heard the noise, a car or truck pulling up to the house. Gravel crunched under multiple sets of feet and the steel door shuddered open. Scott blinked at the light as three men entered the house…no, it was a cabin, he realized. He could see redwood trees through the open door and smell growing things.

One of them turned a bright light onto his face, blinding him while the other two rushed him and pinned him down. "He got out of the ties," said Pete's voice. "You wanna use the cuffs instead?"

"Go ahead," said a vaguely familiar voice.

His hands were fastened behind him again. His ankles were chained together as well and Scott found himself hauled upright, blinking into the fierce light.

"Will somebody tell me what it is that you want?" Scott asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

"It's time to send a ransom note, RichKid," Slater stepped in front of the light. "Sorry about the delay, but we figure it's time we sent your family a little note."

"Slater?" Scott's jaw dropped. "Man, what are you doing? Is this some kind of practical joke? Where are the other guys?"

"Oh, it's no joke, Tracy," Slater moved in closer, attention focused entirely on his victim. "Do you think I'm happy that all the rest of you became officers? Astronauts? And all I have is a damned siding business? I work my ASS off while you live on a goddamned tropical paradise!" Slater's hand shot out and punched his prisoner in the jaw, rocking the man's head back and knocking him to the floor. "You were always set for life. You had the looks, the family contacts, you even got all the pretty girls when we went out drinking! Now I want mine! And I'll take it out of YOU!"

Scott managed to lever himself into a sitting position. "But we were friends, Slater. I saved your damned life during the Asian war!"

"We were never friends, RichKid! I served under you because I had to and I was still hoping for promotion. But that never happened, did it? I never knew whether you put the kibosh on it…"

"For whatever reason you didn't get promoted, it wasn't me," said Scott, trying to heave himself to his feet. "I was always fair and you know I didn't hide my own screwups, much less yours. You got the career you earned. Now, c'mon, undo these cuffs and we'll go out for a beer and talk about it."

Slater pulled a gun, stopping Scott's forward motion immediately. "Oh no, Tracy. You're our meal ticket, you and your oh, so rich, billionaire father!" He gestured behind him and Pete came forward with a camera. Slater dug into his pocket and unfolded a printed piece of paper. "Here's your script, Tracy. Read it into the camera, just like it's written and not a word or a motion different or Loyo will shoot you." He gestured to Loyo, standing in the shadows, holding a gun and, Scott noticed, wearing his International Rescue watch.

"I don't suppose you'd consider at least giving me my watch back," Scott said drily. "I mean, it was a gift from my grandmother."

Slater glanced back at Loyo just as the watch shrilled with an alarm. "What the hell noise is that thing making, Loyo?"

"Hey, he broke my watch. Don't I get a replacement?" Loyo held one hand over the rapidly blinking watch. "Don't worry, it's some kind of alarm that's been going off all day. I haven't figured out how to shut it off yet, but I will."

Scott knew that the watches were voice-keyed. All he had to do was shout and it would pick him up and he'd be saved. John was probably on the other end and would answer and… and… and everyone in the room would know he was International Rescue. What would Slater do with that kind of knowledge? He'd sell the entire organization or worse. Scott closed his eyes and said nothing as Slater grabbed the watch off Loyo's arm and stuffed it into his own coat pocket.

"I'll take care of this. It looks expensive. Don't worry, Loyo, you'll get your cut." Slater gestured toward Scott again. "Okay, Tracy, read the paper and we'll send your Daddy a love letter."

Virgil sat in the Security Manager's office at Scott's hotel and spoke to Brains back at the island. The video was still grainy and the features of the strange men weren't much clearer.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Virgil, but that's as much d-definition as I can g-get on this video," Brains sighed with frustration. "This h-hotel may be high-e-end but their s-security is s-s-second-class."

"I understand, Brains," said Virgil disconsolately. "They threw out the note Scott supposedly left, so we can't examine that either and Scott's room is clean. Even his luggage was packed up by hotel staff. There's nothing there." His watched beeped.

"Virgil and Brains from Alan," Alan's face appeared on the dial. "I've interviewed those of Scott's squadron I could find and they all agree, Scott left the party about 8 p.m. and walked back to his hotel. None of them has seen him since. Nothing was suspicious at all."

"D-did you talk to all of them?" Brains asked.

Alan checked a list. "Everyone but Slater and MacPherson, but the other five's stories were consistent. Should I meet you at the hotel?"

"Yeah," Virgil said, turning off the film viewer. "We might as well go to Los Angeles and pick up Dad's documents and the part for Thunderbird One. There are no leads here."

Thursday

Gordon finally got up after a sleepless night. He rarely complained but he hated being the son left behind on missions, just because his expertise was with water and most of their rescues happened on land.

Like the rest of the family, he was worried about Scott. He'd expect something to happen to Alan or to himself, not to Scott. His eldest brother planned for problems in advance, he didn't do stupid things on impulse like his siblings. Scott was like…a force of nature. Solid. Like a granite wall. He could think his way out of almost any bad situation. So what happened to him?

He knew how worried Father was, he hadn't left his desk or stopped staring at Scott's picture in 24 hours. Gordon had been up sitting with his father, going over and over the hotel video that Virgil and Alan had sent. He pretty much had it memorized but each time they ran through it they hoped for some new detail, and were disappointed. Tintin quietly kept the household supplied with coffee and went around with a sad and worried face.

"Good morning, father," said Gordon, seeing his father still at the desk. "Is there any news from Virgil or John?"

"Hmmm?" said Jeff wearily, "Oh, good morning Gordon. No, there's been nothing since Virgil's last call. They stopped by Tracy Enterprises and picked up the documents. They'll be bringing back that part as well."

Virgil's portrait lit up and Virgil, his face grimmer than his father had ever seen it.

"What is it, Virgil?" Here it comes, his father whispered to himself.

"Father, we were just about to fly out when we got a call back to Tracy Enterprises. This," he held up a video clip, "arrived at the office for you. We looked at it and you need to see it asap."

"Go ahead and feed it through," Jeff said tensely.

The video started and showed Scott, sitting on the floor of a bare room under bright lights, holding a piece of paper. He was battered but didn't look too bad, Jeff thought. Scott looked at the camera and began to read.

"I am Scott Tracy, son of Jeff Tracy of Tracy Enterprises. I have been kidnapped and am being held for a ransom of 1 Billion dollars, to be sent by wire transfer to the Bank of Somalia to account number AC28347409576-12, no later than Saturday morning, 9:00 a.m. P.S.T. If you do not comply or contact any police agency, I will be killed and my body delivered to you."

Scott looked up directly into the camera and quickly started to add, "Dad! It's s…" just as a figure from off-camera leaned in and hit him in the gut with a rifle-butt. As Scott doubled over, the picture faded out.

"Brains, John did you get that?" asked Virgil crisply.

"Y-y-yes, I did, Virgil," said Brains. "I th-think that this may be an, if you'll forgive the term, or-ordinary kidnapping."

Jeff smiled ironically. "Okay, maybe he wasn't taken because of International Rescue's secrets, but that doesn't change the fact that Scott is being held and his life is in danger. Recommendations?"

John's picture flared to life. "Father, why don't you use some of your business contacts? We could get some of your industrial security people on this. They can follow up using the standard police databases while we continue researching with the unconventional ones."

Jeff nodded. "That sounds reasonable to me. In the meantime, Virgil, you and Alan are on your way home? Good. I want to see the original film and have Brains examine it. In the meantime, I'll instruct my bankers to gather the money. John, can you track down the bank account number?."

"FAB," replied John. "It may not be easy, though. The Somalis haven't had a government in a hundred years. Their banks are infamous for sheltering and laundering criminal funds."

"Just do your best, son," said Jeff. He shut the contacts down and put his head wearily down on the desk. Since success had come to him, along with a family of lively boys, this had been his nightmare. He'd taken security precautions all their lives and had felt more secure since he'd started International Rescue with the boys all living in safety on a remote, anonymous island. "I thought we were safe from something like this. I was wrong," he said to himself.

"Y-you are never safe from this k-kind of risk," Jeff looked up to see Brains standing next to the desk, his hands flat on the surface. "Th-the danger has just escalated, in f-fact," he added.

"How so?" Jeff demanded. "My son is in God knows whose hands and he seems to have dropped off the face of the planet!"

"Y-you have f-five sons," Brains said gently. "I-if you pay these k-kidnappers, you put the other f-four at risk for another k-k-extortion." Brains sank into one of the chairs. "A-and worse than that, how likely is it th-that they'll let Scott go even if you d-do pay the money? Remember what happened in the Peterman kidnapping? And the Wilkersons? And S-Scott has seen at least one of the kidnappers."

Jeff closed his eyes, feeling the pain wash over him. He'd known Jess Peterman, a financier whose youngest son, age 17, was taken and later found dead after 10 million dollars ransom were paid. Then, everyone knew about the Wilkerson daughter, eighty years ago she'd been kidnapped and killed by a pair of inept kidnappers after they had been paid. The nanny and the groundskeeper had been convicted, he recalled.

"I take your point, Brains," Jeff said, his voice low and his eyes closed. "We have to delay, then, until we can find him. And try not to give his kidnappers any reason to hurt my son."

Jeff Tracy gave urgent orders that all of Tracy Enterprises security begin looking for Scott. Copies of the tapes were given to his security manager, while the necessary funds were gathered for the ransom payment.

In the meantime, Virgil and Alan had returned to the island. Like his father and brothers, Virgil was almost out of his mind with worry, especially since there was so little he could do. John and Brains were the trained researchers, he was more accustomed to action. He wished he could have torn that damned hotel apart but even then had realized that nobody there knew anything. He spent the time practicing his most intricate and deafening piano pieces, trying to drive the anger and frustration out of his system through the music.

Saturday morning

Scott lay shivering on the floor of the darkened room. There was no heat in the place and it was definitely winter here. They hadn't left him his jacket, shoes or any other covering. They fed him when they remembered, which amounted to a granola bar or two every day. He knew he was getting weaker from hunger and had begun to suspect more and more that they had no plans to ever release him. He was spending most of his time sleeping, conserving his strength and hoped that the temperatures wouldn't drop too low or he'd likely freeze to death.

Resolutely, he got up and began to jog in place to keep warm. They'd left his hands cuffed but had released his ankles so that he could use the bathroom. He'd managed to move his cuffed hands from behind to in front of his body by slowly inching them past his legs. He still had the muscle pains from that manoeuvre and had a new respect for magicians. He made his rounds of the cabin yet again, trying the windows and the steel door without success. He knew that his father and brothers were trying to find him, using all their resources. He just hoped it would be in time.

Saturday-4 p.m. PST

Scott woke abruptly to the sound of the metal door slamming open. Slater ran to Scott and grabbed him by his shirt front, hauling him to his feet.

"What the fuck is going on, Tracy? Your dad didn't PAY! The deadline passed and NOTHIN' happened!" Slater dropped him and Loyo began kicking Scott in the back and belly, joined by Pete. Scott curled up protectively, while the beating went on, hanging on to consciousness by a thread. They stopped, finally, leaving Scott moaning on his side, a thin trickle of blood spreading on the floor.

"So, what now?" asked Loyo. "We kill him?"

"Not yet," said Slater. "Pete, get the camera. Loyo, bring in that old wooden bench and the axe. I don't think Mister Tracy will ignore THIS message."

Sunday morning

NG-TV Morning News Report

"Good morning! This is Terri Kawamura with today's international news. We've had word from our sources that the eldest son of Billionaire recluse, Jefferson Tracy of Tracy Enterprises has been kidnapped and held for ransom. Our sources tell us that the deadline has passed and that Tracy has failed to pay the one billion dollars demanded for the return of his son, former Air Force pilot Scott Tracy."

She looked at the camera, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Could it be that one of the world's richest men is actually poorer than we thought? Or is he simply cheap, like the historic J. Paul Getty who refused to ransom a grandson unless the payment were tax deductible! We await developments and will keep you updated!"

"Did you see that!" Virgil scrambled off the couch and ran to his father's desk to find the rest of the family watching the same news bulletin. "Dad! You can't let them say that! You have to call your lawyers and shut them up!"

Jeff, his arms folded over his chest, said quietly, "That's what happens when you're famous, son. We know the truth. I only hope this won't jeopardize Scott's safety."

"She said you didn't pay the ransom. Is that true?" Alan demanded, crowding the desk.

Jeff Tracy eyed his three angry sons and wearily debated how to answer them. Finally, he said, the words dragging out of him, "It's true. I chose not to pay the ransom on time…" He held up his hand over the shouting of his sons. "I chose not to pay the ransom on time," he reiterated, more loudly, "to save his life! Scott's value drops dramatically the minute the money is paid. Now I don't care about losing the money; I'd give everything I own to keep you all safe."

He looked into the faces of each of his now-silent sons. "If I thought he'd come back to me safe, I'd pay in a minute. But Scott has seen his kidnappers. He's only of value to them while they hope to get something." And I hope to God I'm right.

An alarm began to sound, then another. "What the…?" Jeff said, then Gordon shouted, "There's an aircraft, coming in fast!"

They crowded the big windows overlooking the swimming pool, watching as not one, but three jets came in for a landing on Tracy Island. Each jet had a different newspaper's logo on them.

"Oh my God. The paparazzi have arrived," groaned Jeff. "They've found us!"

He stood up and straightened his clothing and pressed a button, initiating operation cover-up. The boys International Rescue portraits were immediately covered with conventional photos and all traces of International Rescue were hidden. "We can use this, too. Virgil, Gordon, please show our guests into the conference room."

Jeff Tracy found the conference room filled with photographers, cameramen, and people holding microphones. He held his hands up. "I didn't plan on holding a press conference, so give me a moment. First of all, how did you find my home?"

Terri Kawamura smirked and replied, "One of your employees at Tracy Enterprises gave us the details and the coordinates of your island. He seemed to have some talent in hacking your systems."

Jeff's eyebrows raised and he made a mental note to find this employee and fire him then examine his computer security more closely. "In any case, you've found us and, based on this morning's news, I can understand your questions. I'm not willing to be questioned, given the delicacy of the negotiations with my son's kidnappers. But, the simple fact is that we haven't been able to assemble the ransom payment yet…it's a large sum of money. We must beg the kidnappers to please be patient and give us more time…"

He paused for breath and a half dozen voices began shouting questions at him. Frowning thunderously, Jeff leaned forward and began to work the crowd.

Back in the lounge, the mail plane had just arrived and Virgil sat holding an insulated box packed with dry ice, watching a recording on his father's private monitor. His brothers were blessedly absent, ensuring that none of the visitors accessed any secure areas of the island. They'd left him behind to monitor the International Rescue control desk and, under the circumstances, he was profoundly grateful.

Virgil let the tears continue to roll down his face and ran through the tape again. Then he opened the box gently and looked at what the kidnappers had sent; a human finger lay in a clear plastic bag on top of the dry ice. The film showed Scott, dragged to a wooden table or bench or something, his hand splayed onto it and an axe coming down hard. It closed with the sight of red blood spurting and the sound of Scott's screams..


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Virgil, seated at his father's desk, was vaguely aware of the sound of aircraft taking off from the island. The news people were leaving. Virgil looked up to see his father and brothers approaching the desk and quickly closed down the monitor and began scrubbing at his eyes.

He forgot about the box. "What's that?" asked Alan, who picked up the box and began to open it.

"No!" Virgil shouted and grabbed the box back, clutching it hard to his chest. "No! Don't open it!"

"Son, what's wrong?" Jeff demanded, noting Virgil's expression. Jeff's voice softened. "What is that? What's happened?"

"Are…are they all gone? Have they left?" Virgil asked.

"Their craft have taken off, but I imagine they're still in the area. It's okay, son, you can tell me what's wrong?" Jeff held out his hand for the box. "What is this box?"

Virgil gave each of them an anguished look, then handed his father the box. "There's a video that came with the box..NO! Don't open it….Dad…"

Jeff had already opened it and his face became stone as he viewed what lay on top of the dry ice. Gordon and Alan were quiet, attention riveted on the box. Gordon's eyes teared up and he sat down in one of the desk chairs before his knees collapsed on him. Alan grabbed a waste basket and began vomiting into it.

"It came with a video on the mail plane today," Virgil said miserably.

"I think I need to see that video," Jeff said, pushing Virgil out of the command chair. He turned the monitor back on and stolidly watched, hunching more and more into his chair until it finished, his left hand clenching into a fist. Gordon and Alan moved in to watch it over their father's shoulder. When it finished, Jeff stared into space a moment. His three sons were silent and Gordon was openly sobbing now.

Finally Jeff broke the silence. "Virgil, take that box to Brains. It needs to be stored properly so that when Scott…." His voice faltered, then strengthened again. "When Scott comes home it can be reattached. Excuse me, I think..I need to be alone." Jeff turned off the monitor and shambled into his private office, closing the door behind him.

"What do we do?" Alan asked desperately. He sat on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, almost a fetal position, Virgil thought. Gordon wasn't much better. He sat on the floor biting his nails, reminding Virgil painfully of how Gordon the child had reacted to their mother's death.

Virgil said tensely. "I'm going to call John and see if he has any ideas. Scott's almost out of time."

John maintained a calm façade, even after he saw the film, to Virgil's surprise. Then Virgil realized that calm, serene John was enraged.

"Where's father now?" asked John.

"He's in his office. He said he wanted to be alone," Virgil replied. "I haven't seen him like this since…"

John nodded, "Since Mom died. I know. Get Brains. We all need to discuss this. And Brains needs to put…it…on ice until Scott needs it."

Saturday

Redwood Pawn and Loan, Ukiah, California

James Brody turned the watch over in his hands. He'd bought it a couple days ago, thinking it was a Rolex but now he had his doubts. The thing had an alarm that kept going off and he couldn't figure out for the life of him how to shut it off. Finally he located a small button, almost hidden on the side. Ah, there you go! He pressed it firmly and that blasted noise shut off. Well, Rolex or knockoff, it looked like it was worth something. He polished it and set it back into the glass display case.

Scott huddled on the floor, trying to stop the blood. They'd given him an old towel to hold against his hand but any movement and he started bleeding again. Slater's blow with the axe hadn't just taken off a finger, it had damn near cut his hand in two, severing multiple blood vessels. Just his luck he'd get a kidnapper with lousy aim. He'd never pilot Thunderbird One again unless he could do it one-handed. He snorted. How likely was it that he'd pilot anything again? He could feel his head swimming and his hand throbbed. How long had he been out? He peered into the darkness with crusty eyes. Still daylight, judging by the small chinks of light that got past the metal shutters over the windows.

Well, at least they'd fed him, not that he could eat much. So, they didn't want him dead just yet, but he knew he didn't have much time. He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling the pain throbbing up his arm. They'd left right after they'd taken his finger off and Scott had a pretty good idea what they were going to do with it. His heart ached when he thought of how his father and brothers would take it.

The handcuffs had been removed before the axe had come down and never been replaced. Slowly he dragged himself to his feet. Slater wasn't worried about Scott breaking out now that he'd crippled him. Scott could feel that he'd lost weight, his clothes were loose and he'd been starved for what? Three days? His eyes avoided the bench covered in his own blood, then realized that an equally bloody axe lay on the floor next to it. They'd forgotten it in their rush to send that last package to Father. He frowned in speculation. The windows were impossible, but this was a cabin, solid enough but it had to have weak spots…Maybe the bathroom walls? The room smelled of dry rot to begin with.

He slowly bent to pick up the axe with his good hand. Fortunately they'd hit his left hand and he was right-handed. Judging by his kidnappers' past history, he would be alone the rest of the day at least. He wasn't very fit but he had time. And he had patience. And he had an axe.

Holding the sticky axe with his right hand it took Scott several hours to chip a hole big enough to slip through in the bathroom wall. He had to stop periodically to catch his breath and try not to pass out. He was starting to feel woozy, his hand was burning up. He thought infection might be setting in. Thank goodness Father kept them all up to date on their tetanus shots or he'd be fighting lockjaw as well.

Finally he was able to squeeze through the opening and debated whether or not to bring the axe with him. He looked up. Damn! The last thing he needed was a pouring rainstorm. The wind was picking up too. He decided to leave the axe behind since he didn't think he could carry it. He could barely lift it by now and he didn't want to frighten any passerby he asked for help by toting a bloody axe with him since he was already covered with blood. He laughed bitterly, remembering a hundred campfire stories he'd told his brothers. His laugh became a sob as he stumbled away from the cabin and down the gravel road.

Thunderbird Five

Somewhere in Orbit

John had thrown himself into the task of finding his brother. Too many times he felt sidelined, out of the action, floating out here in space. This time his special gifts for computer research and communication might help. His trace of the bank account number was still pending. The Somalis were professional criminals and had buried their private data under a dozen firewalls. Still, John hoped that he'd be able to come up with the data that saved Scott through sheer persistence.

He'd been pinging Scott's watch at regular intervals, hoping that somehow Scott might answer or trigger the tracking beacon. Nothing so far, but he wasn't going to give up. Virgil's call had been…devastating. John's eyes narrowed as he recalled the tape. He wasn't going to give up the search until they had Scott home safe and nothing was going to stop him.

He heard a soft chime from one of the automated systems. One of his searches had turned something up…Scott's watch had been activated. He fought down the temptation to whoop with joy and buckled down to narrowing the locator beam. North America…California…the watch was in..Ukiah? Where the heck was that? A small town in Northern California, surrounded by redwood forests…Hmmmm…Time to follow up on some other possibilities. On a hunch, he ran a list of Scott's squadmates through the local property records database.

"Bingo!" John said and opened a line to base.

"Go ahead, John," said his father's voice, sounding hopeful.

"I got a signal from Scott's watch in the area of Ukiah, California. Coincidentally, one of his old squadmates owns property in that area, a cabin in a remote forested area."

Jeff's face lit up. "I'll call local police. Say a prayer, John. This may be it. I'll take the jet."

"What about us?" Virgil moved to the desk.. "We can't just sit here." Alan and Gordon nodded vigorously.

"Until we know the status of Scott's kidnappers, I don't want you leaving Tracy Island. I've already had one son kidnapped and injured; I won't risk the rest of you."

The three sons exchanged sullen looks but didn't argue.

Jeff took off in Tracy 1 and was dismayed to find the paparazzi jets following him. Damn vultures. Why couldn't they leave him alone, especially on this mission?

Scott stumbled down the road. It was a long hike and it had begun to get dark. The rain was getting heavier. He wrapped his arms across his chest to try to preserve what body heat he could. He looked around, never had the forest seemed so menacing. He stopped, hearing wheels on gravel, then ducked behind a redwood tree to listen. A battered, windowless van came up the road and he had a suspicion that he knew who was in it.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath and blended into the forest. They'd find out he was gone shortly. He couldn't stay on the road, that's the first place they'd look. His best bet would be to try to shadow the road or find a stream and follow it downhill. Streams led to rivers, which led to civilization and help. He sat quietly until the van had passed, then made the best speed he could through the woods.

It got darker and darker and Scott soon realized that he was lost. He couldn't see the road anymore. The rain poured down, drenching his clothing and plastering his dark hair flat on his head. He stopped in the shelter of a tree and carefully unwrapped his hand. It felt hot to the touch and hurt worse than ever. Well, there was nothing more he could do with it. He rewrapped it in the sodden cloth. He decided to cut his losses and try to rest for the night. In the morning he'd see his way better. He found a giant redwood, long hollowed out by fire and hunkered down inside, trying to shield himself from the cold and shivered himself to sleep.

Later that night he heard voices calling his name. He couldn't tell where the voices came from, but he knew that his kidnappers couldn't let him go. They had too much at stake. Quickly, he rummaged outside his tree and found some underbrush to hide the opening. He had to stay quiet if he was going to survive this. He huddled back into his corner against the burned out bark of the tree and hunched over his injured hand. He felt cold, he was shivering harder. He should be holding his hand above heart level to control the bleeding; Virgil would disapprove of his current posture. As if he could still lift his arm... God, he wished Virg were here, hopefully toting hot coffee with bourbon in it and some painkillers. His clothing had dried a bit but was still damp. His feet didn't bear thinking about; his socks were in shreds. He ran his right hand over his sweaty forehead. Great. His fever was worse; the hand was definitely infected. He had to wait out the kidnappers, then he could try to hike into a town somewhere.

Jeff landed the family jet at the Ukiah Airport to find a group of police waiting for him in the pouring rain. The paparazzi had peeled away miles back and he was grateful that his was the only aircraft here.

A man in a trench coat with an umbrella met him and offered his hand. "You must be Jeff Tracy," he said, shaking Jeff's hand. "I'm James Davis, the special agent in charge of this investigation. Let's move inside and talk."

Jeff followed him into the terminal. "Is there any word on my son?" he asked impatiently.

The FBI agent was silent a moment, looking abashed. "I'm sorry, no. We've picked up the kidnappers and they swear that your son broke out of the cabin where they held him. They say that they don't know where he is."

Jeff frowned. "If that were true, Scott would have found help by now, wouldn't he?"

The agent shook his head. "We've examined the cabin. There is a hole chipped through one of the walls. We found a considerable amount of blood inside the building and a bloody axe immediately outside the hole. Given the amount of blood, I'm afraid we can't rule out the possibility that your son was killed by his kidnappers and the story of his escape concocted to avoid prosecution for murder….Mr. Tracy? Hank! Get Mr. Tracy a chair and some water!"

Jeff slumped in the chair, feeling the blood rush away from his head. No, can't faint, he reminded himself. He isn't dead if there's no body. We'll find him and bring him home, no matter what.

The agent sat next to Jeff and began to talk," Mr Tracy, I said it was a possibility. Your son was..is… athletic, right? He could have chopped that hole himself despite…ahh…injuries. We have searchers in the woods looking for him right now. We've got scent hounds out there too. We'll find him."

Jeff Tracy looked bleakly at the agent. The man hadn't even put Scott into the present tense. They were looking for his body, not his living son. He drew in a breath.

"I understand, Agent Davis, but I hope you don't mind if I call in International Rescue as well? Scott's been out there for hours and I want to maximize his chances." Jeff found his hands balled into fists but had no one to hit. He carefully spread his hands flat on his thighs.

"By all means, Mr. Tracy, please feel free to call them in. We'll be happy to work with them. They have an excellent reputation," Davis said soothingly. "But I do have to insist that they not interfere with my investigation or handle evidence. They aren't trained for that."

"Agent Davis," Jeff locked eyes with the agent. "I only want my son back alive. I don't give a damn about your investigation. Anything that will help to find him, I'm going to do."

"Understood, sir." Davis replied. "Would you like to use our radio to call them?"

"No, I'll use my own in the jet," Jeff replied and sprinted back to the Tracy One.

Gordon, Virgil, Alan, Tintin and Brains were in the lounge when the call came in. Jeff purposely gave a brief account of his visit with Agent Davis.

"I've already updated John separately. First, there may be a news presence, so I want you all to wear the fabric masks Brains has devised. Yes, even Brains wears one." At Alan's groan, he added, "This is the only way to make sure that none of the reporters spot you and recognize you. I know they're uncomfortable, but they're necessary in this instance. Alan, I want you to take Thunderbird One. Put her at top speed. I want you here immediately," Jeff ran a hand over his face tiredly.

"FAB, Father," Alan said and immediately went to the Thunderbird One access.

"Gordon, you are going on Thunderbird Two. Please go and begin the pre-flight checks for Virgil. Tintin, you'll stay here and monitor International Rescue while we're gone. But for the moment, go with Gordon and help him with pre-flight. I want to talk to Virgil and Brains alone. They'll tell you what supplies to load and which pod to take."

"Yes sir, said Gordon solemnly.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy..and…bring Scott back safe," Tintin said solemnly and followed Gordon to the elevator.

"Is the room clear?" Jeff asked.

"Yes sir, it's just Brains and I," replied Virgil with a worried frown. "What is it?"

"The FBI have a theory that Scott was actually killed and his body hidden somewhere in the forest. In any case, they're experiencing a major storm system here with a drop in temperature, so it's likely that your brother will have hypothermia on top of everything else. Bring both the primary and secondary medical kits."

Virgil swallowed hard. "Yes, father. What makes them think that…that Scott…"

Jeff sighed. "The amount of blood in the cabin is significant. They think that the kidnappers made up a story to hide a murder."

Virgil frowned, "Dad, let me see that room. Brains' specialty is biochemistry but I have some medical training. I can tell you whether the amount is inconsistent with life."

"A-and Mr. Tracy, I think I can help too," said Brains. "I've developed a mechanical a-alternative to a scent-hound. I have a m-meter that can follow a DNA trail. Presuming Scott left behind a blood trail i-in whatever condition he was in, I can follow him."

"Brains, you've given me hope," Jeff said. "There are searchers and dogs out here already but they've had no luck at all. Get here as fast as you can. Thunderbirds are go!"

Aboard Thunderbird Two, Gordon and Virgil unpacked several crates in Thunderbird Two's infirmary,

"Which kit did you bring?" Gordon asked, seeing the large crate marked with a red cross that Virgil was had opened.

"You're unpacking the primary medical kit. I have the secondary one here," Virgil gestured toward the crate with his chin.

"Wait a minute, the portable operating theater?" Gordon demanded. "We aren't going to need that are we?"

"Dad wants us completely prepared for whatever we find," Virgil replied, closing the empty crate and surveying the various medical supplies and implements he'd stowed. "I hope to God they won't be needed, but we'll have them if we do."

"D-do you think Scott's still alive?" Gordon asked softly.

"Dad's really worried about Scott," said Virgil. "But we are all assuming that Scott is alive." He turned to his younger brother. "And we WILL find him."

Virgil went into the cockpit and nodded to Brains, then strapped himself into the pilot's chair. Gordon took the co-pilot seat.

"Base from Thunderbird Two. Am I clear for launch?" On getting Tintin's okay, he took

her up and set course for the West Coast of North America.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Thunderbirds One and Two landed in the same field, a meadow near the cabin. Their father was there, standing in the rain waiting for them. Four International Rescue workers with their faces covered came out of the aircraft. Davis glanced at them and commented to Jeff, "Hmm. I understand they do that some times when they think the news media might be snapping pictures. Paranoid, that's what they are."

Jeff just smiled and walked toward the International Rescue personnel. "I'm very glad to see you here," Jeff's voice rang out for the benefit of the crowd of police watching the thunderbirds land. "And I am very glad to see you all," Jeff added quietly as he moved closer to his sons and Brains. "Did you bring all the equipment?"

"Yes sir, it's all loaded," Virgil responded. "Do you have a search area mapped out?"

"Yes, here is a map of the national forest," Jeff handed it to Alan. "You can set up Mobile Control near the cabin,"

Alan took the map and promptly got the Mobile Control kit and began walking over to the cabin. Gordon went back to the open pod and drove out the all-terrain search vehicle. Looking like the tank it was designed after, it was able to climb steep slopes and carry multiple passengers.

"Virgil, Brains, I'd like you to see the cabin," Jeff led them toward the cabin, stopping in front of Agent Davis.

"Agent Davis, the International Rescue people tell me that they have some kind of DNA sniffer that can track Scott better than a scent-hound, especially in this rain."

Brains nodded. "W-we have a newly developed piece of equipment that should a-assist in locating the v-victim," said Brains. "It can track a person via the DNA trail that he leaves behind. We are hoping to locate Mr. Tracy's son by that method." He cleared his throat nervously and shot a glance at Jeff Tracy. "I…ah…understand that you have some of S-Scott Tracy's DNA here? In the c-cabin?"

Davis nodded. "The CSI techs have already been through."

"I think I'll stay outside," Jeff Tracy said with a mournful smile.

Virgil concentrated on not losing his lunch while Brains went over to a wooden bench literally soaked in Scott's blood and carefully scraped away a sample. "Are you a-all right, Virgil?" Brains asked anxiously, closing up his sample slide.

"I'll be better when we get outside," Virgil gritted and forced himself to survey the entire cabin, including the hole chopped in the bathroom wall. With difficulty, he exited the cabin at a reasonable pace. "While Brains is calibrating the tracker, I'd like a few words with you, Mr. Tracy," Virgil said and pulled Jeff aside. Alan and Gordon joined them.

"Well? Did he survive?" Jeff asked his son in low tones. Virgil took a long breath. "He's lost a lot of blood, Dad, but yes, I think that survival is possible. I don't think his kidnappers necessarily set this up to hide a murder."

"We should know shortly," Jeff replied and returned to the mobile control setup. "Mr…..ah….Brains? Is your machine ready to go? And..um..would you mind if I accompanied you on the search?"

"Th-that's fine with me, Mr. Tracy," said Brains. "And yes, the machine is ready and calibrated. We can s-start any time now."

"We'll leave the vehicle here until we find your son, Mr. Tracy," Virgil said. "Mobile Control will forward us any news if anyone else finds him. When we find your son, our other colleague can come pick us up in the ATV."

"That sounds fine to me," said Jeff. "Let's get going."

Scott noticed that the forest had gotten quieter. There weren't any more voices near him. He tried to get up one-handed but fell back, dizzy. He didn't feel cold anymore, just sweaty and shaky. He knew that meant he probably had a high fever, but he couldn't do anything about that any more than his hand. He had to get up, find help. Before that, he needed water. He knew that he was dehydrated, between the blood loss and the fever. There was that stream nearby, he'd try that and damn the microbes! At least the rain had stopped.

He stumbled down to the stream and scooped up water in his right hand, visualizing everything that Virgil had to say about drinking water from strange streams. Huh. Dysentery was the least of his worries right now.

He tried to stand and managed it, just. Wobbly and feel so weak…Damn. Can't let Slater and his goons win. Got to go for help but which way? He started forward down a trail but didn't see the log in his way, tripped and landed hard on his injured hand. He could hear himself screaming as he blacked out.

One Mile From the Cabin

"Did you hear that?" Jeff Tracy put a hand on Brains' wrist. "Did you hear that cry? It almost sounded like Scott…"

"It could be just a wild animal, Father," Virgil said quietly, listening intently.

"Brains?"

"I-it came from this direction and that's where the DNA leads as well," Brains said, leading them up a path and past a huge, hollow redwood tree.

"Dad! Tracks!" Virgil pointed out some muddy footprints near a stream. "They look fresh."

"Fan out and call! Maybe he'll know our voices," Jeff ordered.

Several minutes later, Jeff heard Virgil's voice calling from the underbrush, "Father! I've found him!"

Jeff plowed through the ferns and brush to find Virgil on his knees next to the crumpled body of his oldest son. Scott was face-down and not moving. Virgil had a hand on Scott's neck and a look of concentration in his eyes.

"Virgil…?"

"He's alive," Virgil breathed. "Support his neck and help me turn him over."

They carefully rolled Scott onto his back and Jeff bit back an exclamation when he saw his son. He had a week's growth of beard and looked emaciated with hollows around his eyes. His clothing was torn and his shirt was covered with blood. Jeff eyed Virgil, who was busily unpacking the small backpack he'd carried, laying out medical supplies and diagnostic equipment.

Brains came over and saw Virgil's activity. "I'll n-notify mobile control and John," he said.

Jeff Tracy only had eyes for his eldest son, "You do that, Brains." Jeff reached out and stroked Scott's hair and started. "Virgil, he's burning up!"

"I know," Virgil replied softly. "I make his temperature at 102.1 degrees Fahrenheit. I think I can guess the cause." He lifted Scott's left hand and carefully unwrapped the filthy towel. It was stiff with blood and Virgil had to pull it away from where it stuck to the skin. "My God, what they did to his hand…" Virgil closed his eyes and forced himself to a clinical demeanor and continued. "His hand is swollen, and look…" Virgil pointed to a series of dark streaks running up Scott's arm. "He needs a hospital, and fast."

Virgil was wrapping Scott's hand in clean gauze when they heard rapid footsteps as Alan and Gordon came into the clearing pulling a float-pallet.

"Maybe we can help," Alan said, then glanced at Scott and paled. "We..we're not too late, are we?"

"Put the pallet on the ground next to Scott. He's alive but we need to get him out of here," Virgil directed.

Together they lifted him onto the pallet and activated the anti-grav. "How far away did you park the carrier?" Jeff asked Alan.

"We're about a quarter of a mile away. The forest is pretty dense in this area," Alan replied. "Not too far."

Soon they were putting Scott into the back of the carrier. Gordon rode shotgun up front with Alan and watched him floor the gas.

"Hey, Alan, you don't want to kill Scott while you're at it," Gordon held on to his seat with both hands as the carrier bounced and lurched.

"He needs a hospital," Alan said firmly and wrenched the steering wheel around a sharp turn. "The faster I get him back to mobile control, the faster we can fly him out of here. And besides," Alan added. "Whenever I'm your passenger on Thunderbird 4 you always make me seasick but I don't complain, do I?"

"W-well, it's making me motion-sick, Alan," grumbled Brains from the seat behind him.

"Slow it down, Alan!" Virgil yelled from the back. "I'm trying to put in an IV without sticking him to death! The ride is so bumpy, I keep missing the vein!"

Penitent, Alan slowed the vehicle down to half its former speed while Virgil worked on Scott in peace.

Jeff, sitting in the back next to Scott's pallet, watched Virgil as he deftly inserted an IV port on Scott's good hand, then prepared an IV bag, hanging it from the ceiling. He knew that Virgil was a talented paramedic but had never seen him in action before. He was impressed by his son's quiet professionalism and calm under fire. Especially now, Virgil hadn't let his own evident feelings impair his abilities. He'd have to be sure to tell him how proud he was of him.

Virgil gave Jeff a look of sympathy; he knew that his father hated to feel helpless. "Father, Scott's still too hot. Why don't you clean his face with some of these alcohol wipes. That may cool him off a bit."

Jeff gladly took the wipes and carefully began to clean Scott's face, relieved to be of some use.

After a few minutes, Scott's breathing changed and his eyes painfully opened.

"How are you feeling, son?" Jeff asked tenderly. "We've been worried about you."

"Been…better," Scott rasped. "Virg gettin' to practice his EMT skills on me, huh?"

"I'll keep practicing until I get them right," said Virgil with a smile. There was another large bump and the ATV slid a few feet, then corrected itself.

"Alan's drivin', isn't he?" Scott said. "Shouldn let 'm if you wan' patients t'get to th' hospital safely..Owwwwww…." he grabbed at his left hand.

Virgil gently grabbed Scott's right hand and moved it away from his left. "Don't fiddle with it, Scott. I don't want you to undo my masterful bandaging."

Scott closed his eyes, shading them with his right hand. "Doesn' matter. Not gonna fly again wi' han' like that. No good."

Jeff Tracy frowned, feeling a deep flare of rage against the men who would cripple such a promising pilot. "Scott, we'll find the best microsurgeons available, modify Thunderbird One's controls if necessary. You will fly her again, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, Father, I hear ya," said Scott, unconvinced, then he drifted into sleep.

They got back to Mobile Control in record time with no apparent damage to either the vehicle or its passengers, including Scott. Jeff went to meet Agent Davis while Scott was unloaded.

"I see that International Rescue came through again," said Davis, approaching Scott's gurney. "He's alive?"

Virgil stood next to his brother, keeping an eagle eye on his condition. "He is, sir, but I'd recommend he be transported to a hospital as quickly as possible. We could probably get him there faster than any ambulances you have, if Mr. Tracy approves."

"Absolutely," said Jeff Tracy. "Agent, I assume you don't need me or my son any longer."

"We'll need his clothing for evidence and some pictures of his present condition for trial later," said Davis. "I'd also like to interview him when he's feeling better."

"Are photos really necessary?" asked Jeff. "We try to avoid publicity for my sons' safety and my own."

"Photos of this type are generally held under seal and only seen by the judge, attorneys and jury. There are strict privacy laws protecting them from release. They're necessary as evidence against your son's kidnappers. You do want them prosecuted, don't you?" Agent Davis asked, reasonably.

"Oh yes, I do want them prosecuted! If I have your undertaking that the photos remain private, then I'll allow it," replied Jeff, watching his other sons move Scott into Thunderbird Two's sickbay.

" Where are you taking him?" Davis asked.

"I understand that Stanford Hospital has an excellent trauma center, Mr. Tracy," said Virgil deferentially, moving to stand next to his father. "We could be there in 15 minutes at Thunderbird Two's speed."

Jeff nodded. "That's where we'll be, then. I'll send someone back for my jet. And thank you again for your help, Davis."

Davis said, "Well, Mr. Tracy, I'm glad that your son was recovered. I'll have one of the CSI's from the Palo Alto Police Department stop by to collect Scott's clothing and take some pictures."

"I understand," said Jeff and after a brisk handshake with Agent Davis, Jeff Tracy followed the International Rescue men back to their Thunderbird Two.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Stanford Hospital**

Hospital staff were waiting at the landing pad as Thunderbird 2 set down. While Virgil and Gordon loosened the straps that held Scott's gurney, Jeff approached the still-closed bay door.

"Virgil, take Thunderbird Two back to the Island then fly back with Gordon and Alan in Tracy 2. I'll stay here with Scott. Put your masks back on so that the hospital workers don't see your faces." He looked straight at Alan. "That means you, too, son."

Alan smiled, replaced his mask and popped open the hatch.

With the help of the hospital orderlies, they unloaded Scott's gurney and transported him inside the hospital into the emergency room. Jeff saw that an area had been cleared and that uniformed police officers guarded the doors.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll need to stay out here," said a masked and gowned doctor. "We'll take good care of him."

Jeff nodded and took a seat in a chair immediately outside the examination room, preparing to wait as long as necessary.

Jeff dozed off and woke to a cacophony of sound. Blinking, he heard shouting, "Code Blue!...He's flat-lining..get the crash-cart stat!" and people shouting Scott's name.."Scott! Scott Tracy, wake up! Scott! Can you hear me?" and another voice demanding a variety of polysyllabic drugs that Jeff couldn't recite back if he tried…..

Jeff sat up straight and grabbed the arm of one gowned body rushing by. "What's going on?" he demanded.

The person, a nurse, he thought, stopped briefly. "Your son is very ill and I need to get in there. We'll let you know his condition when he's stable…" and rushed into the room.

In his active life, Jeff Tracy had seldom felt as helpless as he did at that moment. He firmly squelched his first impulse, which was to rush into the room and demand to know what was going on. The last thing he wanted to do was to disrupt their efforts to save his son's life. Jeff sat back down in his chair and tried to stay out of the way, trying to push away hospital memories of Lucille's death. No, Scott wasn't Lucille and he wasn't dead yet.

Finally, when he saw Scott being wheeled out of the room and down the hall Jeff stood up and craned his neck to see his son. What little he could see was a progression of tubes hooked into multi-colored IV bags, wires and monitors. A doctor peeled away from the crowd and approached him.

"Mr. Tracy," the doctor pulled off his mask and reached out to shake Jeff's hand. "I'm Dr. Bill Crawford, one of Scott's surgeons."

"What's wrong with him?" Jeff demanded. "What happened?"

"A combination of things," Dr. Crawford shrugged. "He was dehydrated and hypothermic to begin with and he has a broken rib. The infection in his hand has been moving rapidly into his bloodstream and is the most serious problem. While we were doing a preliminary surgery on his hand, his kidneys began to fail. We were able to successfully resuscitate him. We've got him on some strong broad-spectrum antibiotics, so hopefully we'll see some improvement soon."

"I see," said Jeff thoughtfully. "Can I see him?"

"I don't see why not, although he'll be out for a while. He's got a room in the intensive care wing. With security, I understand," Crawford gave Jeff a quizzical look.

"Necessary, I'm afraid," Jeff replied. "You know his immediate history?"

Crawford frowned. "I understand, Mr. Tracy. Rest assured we'll take the best care possible of your son."

**Intensive Care**

Jeff took up a chair in Scott's room and watched the monitors without understanding them much. All he knew was that Scott was alive and finally safe. A few hours later there was a tap at the door and the guards let a man into the room. He wore an ID on a lanyard around his neck and carried a camera and a large paper sack.

"Hello, I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm from the Palo Alto P.D." the man said cheerfully. "I'm here to take some photos of a Mr. Scott Tracy. Would that be him?"

"Yes, that's my son," said Jeff, getting up from his chair. "Agent Davis told me to expect you. All right, then. And what's the sack for?"

The photographer held up the paper sack. It was stapled shut and had writing covering the closed flap. "This is your son's clothing. I picked them up in the emergency room. While I'm taking the photos, you may not want to stay in the room, Mr. Tracy. You may find it upsetting…"

"I've just gotten him back. I'm not leaving," said Jeff shortly. "I'll try not to get in your way. Please proceed."

The photographer nodded and snapped a few shots of Scott's bandaged hand and then took photos of Scott's face, focusing on the bruises. With the nurse unwrapping the bandages on his son's hand, Jeff got a good look at the current damage and was appalled. When Virgil had unwrapped it, the hand had been covered in blood and unrecognizable. Now it looked like something from a Frankenstein monster. Scott's hand had a sharp gash cutting it in two from the middle finger and (missing) ring finger into the back of his hand, stitched crudely closed and swollen to twice its normal size. The red streaks were brighter and running up to Scott's elbow.

Jeff sat down hard in his chair and tried to stay calm. When the nurse lifted the blanket, he saw the dark purple bruises across his son's chest, he closed his eyes and turned his head away, knowing that the sight would haunt his dreams. He tried to keep them safe, but his best just wasn't good enough this time.

**LATER**

Scott dreamed that he heard Alan and Gordon arguing and smiled, thinking how great it would be to be home, listening to his noisy brothers. Then he dreamed his father shushed them and pondered how realistic the dream seemed to be. He slowly realized that he wasn't lying on a cold, dirty floor and cracked open an eye.

"Hey! He's awake!" he heard Alan shout and get shushed again. A grinning blonde face wavered into his vision.

"Okay, this isn't heaven," Scott said with a smile. "I must be alive, because you're no angel."

Alan was tugged away and Scott saw his father's smiling face. "Hello son, how are you feeling?"

Scott took a quick physical inventory. "Well, nothing hurts and I'm not dead, so I guess I'm okay," he replied, then noticed that his left hand was heavily bandaged and memory came back in a rush.

"You found me, I remember now. How long have I been out?"

"We found you, son," said Jeff, carefully tucking in Scott's blanket. You've been unconscious for about three days now. Between the infection, malnutrition and blood loss, you've had quite a time. They have also done some surgery on your hand."

Scott raised his hand. "What happens now?"

"My understanding is that there will further surgeries on your hand, depending on how well the infection clears up, including surgically reattaching your finger. It's been in preservative since we received it. We'll have to see how much function you retain."

Scott frowned, looking at his bandaged hand. "Will I need special controls for Thunderbird One? How long am I grounded? And how on Earth did you find me?"

Jeff looked uncomfortable at Scott's questions about flying Thunderbird One.

"One of the kidnappers hocked your watch and activated the homing signal, Scott," Virgil broke in and Scott suddenly realized Virg was sitting on the other side of the bed. "John traced it to a cabin belonging to your old squadmate, Slater."

Jeff took up the narrative. "Slater and his two colleagues were picked up by local police."

"Dad, I'm feeling kind of tired right now…" Scott began and Jeff nodded.

"You need your rest. Okay, everybody out, back to the hotel and let your brother alone." He began to shoo his sons out the door.

"Virg—can you stay a moment?" Scott asked.

Virgil looked back for his father's nod and moved back over to Scott's bed. As the door closed Scott leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Are you okay, Scott?" Virgil asked anxiously. "Should I call a nurse?"

Scott opened his eyes and met his brother's gaze. "I've never been so scared in my entire life, Virg. And now, I'm left with this..." He nodded toward his hand. "What if I never fly again? Dad isn't a doctor, he doesn't know whether the damage can be repaired."

"None of us does, Scott," said Virgil. "But I do know this, even if we have to design a voice-controlled Thunderbird One, you'll be flying her."

"Thanks, Virgil, now let's get down to reality. What happens to International Rescue while I'm laid up? Is Alan going to pilot my 'bird?" Scott began to scratch at the bandages on his hand, then stopped at Virgil's frown.

"He'll probably be filling in while you're out; it's not as if it hasn't happened before," Virgil said. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't scratch the paint. Scott, you just have to give this time." Leaning forward and meeting Scott's eyes, Virgil added, "You almost died. Dad didn't tell you, but it was touch and go once we got you here. You spent two days in the ICU before they released you to a regular room. Your focus should be on recovering, not worrying about the future."

"I can't help worrying, Virg," Scott said slowly. "Flying is all I have, it's what I am. No, wait," he said at Virgil's protest. "You don't live for flying, you're a good artist and composer. Alan loves racing, and Gordon lives for oceanography, John for astronomy. Even Dad has International Rescue as his life's work. What happens if I can't fly anymore? Thunderbird One isn't an ordinary jet and you know it. She requires delicate handling or you're liable to drive her into the ground."

Virgil shook his head in exasperation. "Scott, you're a talented Field Commander," Virgil insisted. "You don't need two hands for that, just the talents you already have!"

"Thanks, Virg, but how do I get to the danger zone? As Alan's passenger? Or yours? I can't accept that." Scott carefully laid his hand down on the bed. "I want answers and nobody can give them to me. And worst of all, I can't even get out of bed and walk out of here! I fall on my ass when I get up."

"Oh come on now," said Virgil. "You've been injured before and you know the drill. You obey the doctor's orders and you'll get better over time. The important thing is not to push for too much too fast."

Scott lay back, stubborn expression on his face. "Okay, Mother, I'll be a good boy and obey the doctors."

**LATER THAT AFTERNOON**

Scott had just finished what the hospital called 'lunch' when the guards showed a strange man into the room.

"Hello, " the stranger said. "I'm FBI Agent Davis. I was in charge of your rescue. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?"

"Yeah, my Dad told me about you. What do you want to know?" Scott asked.

"Well, I do want to ask you about your kidnapping but for starters, let me open by asking you a bit about yourself. Your full name is Scott Carpenter Tracy? After the Gemini astronaut?" Davis smiled. "Your father must really be a fan of NASA history."

"He's not just a former astronaut," Scott explained. "He's also pretty fascinated with the history of aeronautics. I'm just lucky I didn't get named 'Chuck Yeager Tracy'."

"You're 31 years old, yes? And you live with your father on Tracy Island? Your brothers all live there too? The youngest brother is Alan, right? And he's 21?" asked Davis. At Scott's nod, he continued. "You aren't married, I take it? No? Girlfriends? How about your brothers?"

"Now look, I don't know what any of this has to do with my kidnapping," Scott said irritably.

"Just basic background information. Pretty standard," said Davis. "Okay. Where are you employed?"

"I'm…uh…Tracy Enterprises, I guess…" Scott replied.

"But you aren't on the payroll?" Davis asked smoothly.

"Well, no, it's pretty much family money. We aren't publicly owned…I work for my father…"

"Oh, okay, so whatever tasks your father has for you, you perform?" Davis asked.

"Well, yeah…but…wait a minute, not like it sounds…I'm not my father's errand boy. Mostly I'm a pilot.." Scott could feel his cheeks flushing.

"But you don't do a regular route, do you?" Davis replied. "Would it be fair to say that your expenses and those of your brothers are covered by your father?"

"We all work for Tracy Enterprises," said Scott firmly. "Dad's training me to run the company when he retires."

"I see," Davis noted something down on his notepad. "Okay, let's talk about the kidnapping….."

**THE NEXT MORNING**

Scott woke after a long sleep. The interview with Davis had been gruelling and he had been wrung out and tired when the man finally shut his notebook and left. He was rubbing his eyes blearily when he heard a tap on the door and a doctor with a large case came into the room.

"Hello," the man said crisply. "I'm Dr. Steven McClay. The rehabilitation department sent me. You must be Scott Tracy."

At Scott's nod, he came in and set the case down on the bed's side table. "I'm here to discuss your rehabilitation and the options available to you."

Scott sat up eagerly and leaned toward his savior. "I'm really glad to see you. Everyone keeps telling me to rest, but I'm ready to start physical therapy and move forward."

Dr. McClay smiled. "I can see that you are. Well, let's discuss the possibilities then." He opened the carrying case, swivelling the open end, retrieving an artificial hand. He set it on the bed in Scott's lap.. "As you can see, we have the option of either a hook or a flesh-like prosthesis. I understand that the prosthesis can even be connected to some nerves in the arm, making it able to perform movements similar to your natural hand…"

Scott turned white. "Wait, wait…what do you mean _prosthesis_? I've only lost a finger. My hand is still attached!"

Dr. McClay replied pleasantly, "Of course, but your hand has been all but severed. I'd understood that an amputation was being scheduled for you. If you want any function after that, you need to consider your prosthetic options. I'm sorry, Scott, but you'll have to accept your disability and your future limitations."

Virgil opened the door and stopped, seeing Scott facing a doctor with an expression full of rage and, what he later realized was terror.

Scott lunged at the doctor, falling awkwardly to the floor, and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Get OUT of here! Go away! And take your prostheses with you!" Reaching the prosthetic hand off the bed, he threw it after the fleeing doctor, where it smacked against the wall next to the doorway and Virgil.

"Scott! What's going on?" Virgil ran over and helped his brother back into the bed, noticing that Scott was shaking as he reattached the IV's and tucked the in the blankets. Scott lay back panting in his bed with his eyes closed, pounding his good hand on the bedrail.

"What just happened, Scott?" Virgil leaned over him and asked gently. "Who was that guy and what was he here for?"

Gulping back his sobs, Scott turned to his brother. "He..he said that my h-hand is going to be amputated. Did Dad set this up?"

Virgil sat on the bed next to his brother and put an arm around his shoulder. "No, no that isn't what's being planned at all, Scott. I've heard Father telephoning doctors about you, and come hell or high water, he intends to rehabilitate you. There must be some mistake. And I'm so sorry you had to handle it alone."

Scott was silent and just turned over in bed, refusing to answer.

**LATER—**

"Yeah, Dad, it seems that Dr. McClay had misread some orders from Dr. Arbuckle, and thought that the surgery Scott is scheduled for was an amputation and not reconstructive surgery," Virgil's face on the vid-phone was serious. "I've never seen him like this; I'm worried about him."

"Dear God, what a thing to happen, and after everything else," Jeff Tracy shook his head. "I should be there with him instead of putting out corporate fires here on the Island."

"Regardless of his condition, I think we should bring him home, Father," said Virgil. "Even though his room is private, there's really no security here. Anyone can get into his room, and I've seen Scott jump when strangers came in, even when they were legitimate medical workers. I think we forget that he was a captive for a week by someone he used to trust. I don't think he can heal mentally, much less physically, as long as he's in the hospital. I can change his dressings and monitor his IV's at home."

"If you feel confident with that, I don't see why we can't bring him home until his next surgery," Jeff Tracy nodded. "Okay, sign him out and fly him home today. There's no point in leaving him there another night."


	6. Chapter 0

Note to my readers-I have re-written chapters 3-5 and changed some things, you may want to re-read them because I've added a whole lot more angst for Scott and the Tracy's and corrected some errors. All thanks to Pen for teaching me to think like a Tracy!


	7. Chapter 7

**A note to my readers—I've reworked chapters 3-7, so please reread them to keep the continuity **

**Chapter 7**

Jeff Tracy broke the vid-phone connection with a sigh. Scott was coming home, but he was crippled in body and psyche. He only hoped that Scott was as resilient as he'd always been in the past. He heard a noise and looked up to see Gordon standing at the desk with a thoughtful look.

"Hello, Gordon," Jeff said. "What can I do for you?"

"I..ah..heard the tail end of your conversation with Virgil," Gordon said. "How is Scott doing?"

"Not as well as we'd hoped," Jeff replied. "Your brother has some healing to do."

"I think maybe I can help," said Gordon. "I've been through something like that, you know."

Light dawned and Jeff nodded. Gordon had been terribly injured in a hydrofoil accident a few years ago. "You had to learn to walk all over again," Jeff said, leaning back in his chair. He gestured to a desk chair and his son sat down.

Gordon said, "And it torpedoed my career with WASP. For a while there we thought I'd be paralyzed and I'd never swim again, never captain a sub. I _know_ how Scott feels and I can guess the doubts and fears he's facing. It's even worse for him because he's always been the one in charge, supporting the rest of us." Gordon dug into his pocket and handed his father a folded piece of paper. "I called my orthopedist and got his referral for the best hand-surgeon he knows. He's at the Mayo Clinic and is willing to see Scott."

Jeff unfolded the paper and saw the number for Dr. Marian Shultz, specialist in reconstruction of the hand. "Thanks, Gordon, this is an incredible help. I think you will be, too."

"When Scott needs physical therapy, I can help with that too," said Gordon, grinning. "I'm looking forward to the opportunity to boss my older brother."

With relief, Jeff relaxed in the lounge and turned the television on. He was not overjoyed to see the Terri Kawamura report and would have changed channels except he caught a familiar name.

"And in the Scott Tracy kidnapping I have an exclusive interview with Ted Slater's defense attorney, Howard Baring." The camera panned over to a 40'ish man in an expensively tailored silk suit.

"It's a pleasure to be here, Terri," said Baring. "Especially since the truth of this case has yet to hit the press. My client is, in fact, a dupe, a tool used by Scott Tracy to extort money from his tight-fisted father!"

Kawamura smiled and leaned forward on her chair. "Really? Then you mean that the Tracy son masterminded all of it? What about the supposed injuries he had to his hand?"

Baring waved a hand. "Oh, that! Tracy was living in the cabin to make it look good and was willing to lose a finger to prove to his father that the kidnappers were serious. Trouble was, Slater missed with the axe and damaged Tracy's hand, which royally pissed Tracy off. He decided he was done with the plan, broke out of the cabin and has been Daddy's fair-haired boy ever since." Baring shot a look of sympathy to the camera. "And now my client and his two friends are being hung out to dry by the man who planned the whole thing."

Disgusted and feeling vaguely nauseated, Jeff Tracy shut the television off and stared into space with an expression of tightly controlled rage.

**Five Hours Later**

A very weary Virgil wheeled a grumpy Scott into the family jet. It had taken hours to get Scott discharged from the hospital. He could swear that every doctor, nurse, physicians' assistant, therapist and janitor had demanded that Scott go back to his room and be a compliant patient. Virgil smiled fiercely. Little did they know about the Tracy stubbornness, and with Scott backing him, the professionals had no chance of winning the argument with either of them.

"So, Scott, are you sure you don't want to sleep this trip?" Virgil asked his brother in vain. Given Scott's recent worries and how incredibly drawn he was looking, Virgil had been tempted to sedate him involuntarily.

"Nope. I'm staying awake, I feel _fine_, I keep telling you," said Scott defiantly.

"Uh huh," said Virgil doubtfully. "Okay, but you stay on the gurney and you're strapped in for safety in case we hit turbulence. We're following standard injured-passenger rules. No co-pilot's seat this trip."

Scott said nothing but just glared as Virgil checked the safety straps that held Scott in and his gurney down.

Hours later he was relieved when he finally saw the lights of home. "Tracy One, on final approach, am I clear to land?" he radioed his father.

"Virgil, welcome home!" his father replied. "I take it Scott's with you?"

Virgil looked over his shoulder to the pallet on which Scott slept, despite all his arguments. "Yeah, he's slept most of the flight. I think he's out until tomorrow morning. I have care instructions from his doctor and his meds."

Jeff smiled. "It's good to have you both home. Gordon will help you get Scott to the Sick Room. I'll see you both in the lounge when you're done."

Virgil found his little brother Gordon waiting at the landing strip. The two of them jockeyed Scott's float pallet into the house and moved him into his bed. By the time they'd finished tucking Scott in, Alan, Brains, Tintin and eventually Jeff had wandered in.

"He looks awfully pale," said Tintin in a worried voice. "Are you sure he's okay to leave the hospital?"

"His vitals are fine," said Virgil. "I have no doubt that some of Kyrano and Grandma's good food will perk him up. Is she back, by the way?"

Tintin smiled. "Oh yes, she's busy unpacking in her room."

"Yeah, she said Paris is lovely this time of year," Alan added. "But if Dad keeps her out of the loop on anything like this again, she's going to disown him."

"I didn't want to worry her," said Jeff, coming into the room. "And I figured that she was safest where she was." He leaned over the bed and peered at the sleeping Scott. "He does look pale. It's a good thing we brought him home." He eyed his other sons sharply. "Let's all adjourn to the lounge to discuss this further."

The lounge gathering consisted of the three Tracy sons remaining at home, John by communicator, Tintin, Kyrano, Brains and Grandma in addition to Jeff Tracy at his desk. "Okay, as you already know, Scott came home this evening. He's still quite ill and will need all our support to maximize his recovery."

"Dad, you make Scott sound like a new marketing project or something," said Alan.

Jeff smiled at his youngest and least tactful son. "Alan, I'm sorry, but I think of things in a project management kind of way. It's the way I'm trained. And, in any case, I think that each of us can help him in our own way." He took out Gordon's piece of paper and smoothed it on the desk top.

"I've spoken with Scott's new hand surgeon and made arrangements for his scans and records to be shipped to her. He has an appointment in two weeks. Gordon and Virgil," he looked at these sons. "You will escort Scott to the appointment both as emotional support and as potential therapists for Scott post-surgery. I've arranged for you to get any necessary training through Dr. Schultz."

"Brains," Jeff indicated the scientist. "I'd like you to research potential alterations to Thunderbird One to accommodate a pilot with a bad hand. I anticipate this accommodation to be only temporary, but I don't want Scott to feel that he's out of action any longer than necessary."

"Virgil, has Scott seen any newscasts today?" Jeff asked.

"Why, no, Dad," replied a puzzled Virgil. "I've been with him since he woke up this morning and it took us half a day to get him discharged from the hospital. He slept during the entire flight."

"Good," said Jeff. "Tintin, I want you to make sure that the television in Scott's room is permanently on the fritz. I don't want him to see any news from the mainland, be it newspaper or broadcast. I leave it up to you to keep him distracted so he doesn't realize he's missing anything."

Tintin looked as puzzled as Virgil, but nodded acquiescence. "Certainly, Mr. Tracy. I'll do my best. But what is this all about?"

Jeff Tracy sighed and ran his gaze over his entire family, for he considered everyone on Tracy Island his relations. "I caught Terri Kawamura's latest interview, with Slater's attorney. Their defense strategy will be to blame Scott for the whole kidnapping. According to Mr. Bering, Scott hatched the plot and changed his mind when Slater missed with the axe."

Jeff listened to the loud exclamations and let them all blow off steam, then interrupted. "_That_is why I don't want Scott aware that he's been defamed like this. Given all he's already suffered at Slater's hands, I can't see adding to his distress. I'd like us to take our own steps to clear Scott's name."

"John," said Jeff Tracy. "I'd like a thorough background check on Scott's three kidnappers. I don't want their prosecutor to lack any information about prior criminal activity. I want to squelch those rumors so thoroughly that there is no doubt about who really planned this kidnapping. I don't want Scott to ever know that his good name was ever impugned."

Jeff leaned back in his chair, a genial expression on his face. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to each of you for your role in bringing Scott home. He needs our support now, more than ever. I know that I can count on you to help him."

"What can I do, Father," asked Alan plaintively.

"Just don't booby-trap his room," muttered Virgil and was elbowed by Gordon.

Well, Scott," Virgil grinned as he pulled the last IV line. "It looks like you can finish your antibiotics and get pain meds in pill form now. No more IV's"

Scott stretched his arms for the first time in a week and slid over to the side of the bed. Even though he was still a bit unsteady on his feet, the residual weakness was fading rapidly.

"You going to work out on the treadmill today?" Gordon asked as he helped his brother up off the bed.

"Yeah, I want to build my strength back up " said Scott firmly. "I'd like to start some weight training, too."

Virgil and Gordon exchanged glances; Virgil shrugged. "The doctor said that gentle exercise was okay, so I don't see any problem with that, but realize that you aren't supposed to use your hand. I guess you'd be fine with any machine that interacts with your forearms or legs."

"Fine, I'll do that then. I may have a gimpy hand, but that doesn't mean I can't use the rest of my body," Scott said. "So, are you mother hens going to join me or what?"

Scott walked the treadmill, then ran at a brisk pace. He knew that at any given time Virgil or Gordon were watching him, waiting to rush in if Scott so much as stumbled. Heck with that! He was going to get his life back, one way or another. Damn t. in his room was out of order was out too. Tintin said it was some kind of wiring problem and she'd ask Brains about it. He picked up the remote and clicked the power button experimentally. To his unconcealed joy, the screen lit up, to a Terri Kawamura interview.

Before a horrified Gordon could shut the television off, Scott had heard enough. He gently set the remote down to keep from throwing it and turned to face Virgil on his own now-stationary treadmill.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" he demanded.

Virgil looked nervously at Gordon, unable to meet Scott's eyes. "Um…Dad asked us not to…"

"And that's why my room tv set is out?" Scott asked. "How long has this been going on?"

"A couple days at most," answered Gordon. Scott frowned, remembering his interview with Agent Davis. "Damn it!" he said, throwing his towel and stalking from the room. "Dad!"

Jeff Tracy was in his office with his usual pile of paperwork. He looked up as his oldest son stormed in with an expression reminiscent of his father at his angriest.

"Scott! What's the matter?"

"Terri Kawamura, for one," said Scott, puffing with the exertion, threw himself into a desk chair. "I think we have trouble."

"Terri Kawamura's nothing," Jeff waved a hand. "I can always sic the lawyers on her if need be. And nobody believes half of what the tabloid press thinks…"

Scott rubbed his eyes with his good hand. "That's not what I'm worried about, Dad. I just don't want to spend any time in jail."

"What?" Jeff demanded.

"Agent Davis came to the hospital and we had what he called an 'interview'," Scott said bitterly. "He spent a lot of time on where I live, what my source of income is, what my employment is. The implication was that I and my brothers have given up our adult lives and careers to live with our wealthy, controlling father to live on his money." Scott scrubbed at his eyes. "None of us even have girl friends, with the possible exception of Alan. That would give me the alleged motive to try and extort money from you, wouldn't it?"

"Scott," said Jeff. "You and I both know that's not true! You live here, at International Rescue's base so that you can be available for rescues. You have a career, it's just not something that can be generally known!"

"And that's the problem, Dad," said Scott. "How do you disprove something like this? I don't appear on anyone's payroll and while we can fix that going forward, it doesn't help now. The secrecy necessary to keep International Rescue alive has its cost. No, Dad," he said, waving aside his father's objections. "We all agreed that it was worth it and we're committed to IR. But it makes it impossible for me to defend myself."

"But there's no proof that you've done anything wrong," insisted his father. "My God, all they have to do is take a look at your hospital pictures. Nobody could voluntarily go through what you did." Jeff paused, thinking. "But you're right. We need to know what Agent Davis has in mind for you." He pressed a button and said. "Base to Thunderbird Five."

John's portrait lit up. "Thunderbird Five. Hey, Scott! How are you feeling, bro?"

Scott smiled, "Physically much better but I think we'll need some of your …ahem…research skills."

John's eyebrow lifted. "Oh? What do you need?"

"John," Jeff said. "We need a quick background check on Agent Davis, who supervised the investigation into Scott's kidnapping. What kind of man is he? Is he honest? Is it possible that he's being used by an enemy of this family or of International Rescue? Also please get copies of all police and investigative reports on Scott's kidnapping."

"Will do, Father," said John. "Does this have anything to do with all the tabloid coverage this has been getting?"

Jeff replied. "Yes, I'm afraid so. We're trying to keep your brother from being arrested or worse."

John paled. "I'll get right on it and get back to you."

Scott leaned forward and met his father's eyes. "There's just one thing I need to be sure about, Dad. You don't believe I actually planned any of this, do you?"

Jeff smiled. "No, son, I don't believe it and neither do your brothers. You can rest assured of that."

"There's going to be a trial, isn't there? Of Slater and his bunch?" Scott asked stolidly. "And I'm the chief witness. I can't hide from this."

"I imagine so, son." Jeff nodded. "There are some things I can't protect you from and this is one of them. When your honor is impugned, sometimes all you can do is look them straight in the eye and tell the truth, whether or not they're willing to believe it." He got up and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders. "The most important people in your life already know the truth. We have faith in you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Kidnap Chapter 8**

**The NEXT DAY**

Scott deliberately avoided the television and his brothers kept it off in deference to him. To Virgil, his brother seemed quieter and moodier. Although Scott had previously shared his frustrations and fears, since his conference with Father, seemed to have clammed up.

"Whatcha doin'?" Virgil asked as he noticed Scott standing at the balcony, watching the ocean.

"Nothing much. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. How about you? It's been pretty quiet lately, hasn't it?" Scott replied, never taking his eyes off the waves.

"No rescues, if that's what you mean," Virgil said, taking up a position next to his brother. "It's nice to have a break every now and then." Virgil waited out the silence, then decided Scott wasn't going to bring it up. "You worried about what the news is saying?"

"That and a few other things," Scott said, absently. "Virg, we agreed that International Rescue was worth giving up some things for, but we never agreed to live like monks."

"What?" asked Virgil. "Where did that come from?"

"When's the last time anybody but Alan dated? I mean, really got serious about someone?"

"Well, um…I dunno…it's been a while I suppose," Virgil said thoughtfully. "It's kind of hard to get close to anyone when half of what you tell them is a lie." Virgil eyed his brother closely. "This is about more than your hand, isn't it?"

"Once the news media gets done with me, I might never be of use to International Rescue again," Scott said. "Between having my face plastered all over the tabloids and losing a hand, I may be looking at alternate careers. I'm just thinking about our lives and how mine might change."

"What? Retire from International Rescue?" Virgil grinned. "And lose all this? Checking your shoes in the morning for chocolate pudding? Getting up at 3 in the morning after a hard rescue to go out again and be polite to a dozen hysterical officials at a new danger zone? Perish the thought." Virgil snorted. "At least the photos they're showing of you are about a hundred years old and don't look like you anymore."

"Boys, it looks like John's come through," Jeff appeared behind them on the balcony. "He's put together quite a dossier on Agent Davis. Come have a look. I think we should have our own meeting with him."

**San Francisco FBI Office**

**Two Days Later**

Agent Davis led the Tracy's into a wood paneled conference room and invited them to sit down. Jeff carried a disk with the substance of the background check in his pocket and seemed confident about the meeting. Scott wasn't as sure. The background check had shown that Davis, a law graduate from Berkeley had formerly practiced law before joining the FBI. He was known to be a hard worker an honest man who was well-respected by his peers. Scott mused, that honesty and diligence could get me prosecuted if he thinks that the evidence supports Slater and his cronies.

Davis pulled up a chair and smiled pleasantly at both men. "I understand that you'd like to discuss Scott's case with me?"

"Yes," said Jeff Tracy. "I understand from my son that you came to see him in the hospital, shortly after he regained consciousness, and grilled him about the kidnapping."

"Well, I did talk to him briefly," said Davis. "Do you have some concern?"

Jeff looked Davis straight in the eye. "We have been following the news and understand that some question has been raised as to whether Scott was himself a planner of his own kidnapping. The only reason I don't have a panel of lawyers with me today is that I have always valued the personal touch and would rather discuss this issue with you privately first. What is your assessment of Scott's involvement?"

Davis sighed. "Mr. Tracy, Scott, this isn't an easy case. You are a wealthy and powerful man and Scott is your son, also affluent. He also is unemployed and lives in the family mansion along with your other unmarried sons. To the public's eye, you appear to be a repressive, controlling father, keeping your sons under your thumb. No, wait," he said when Scott began to get up. "I said, that's the public's perception. Do you remember the case of Patricia Hearst, about a hundred years ago?"

"I read about her a long time ago," said Scott. "She was a terrorist, wasn't she?"

"Not quite," said Davis. "Like you, she was kidnapped and because she came from a wealthy family, was castigated by the press when she began to sympathize with her captors—Stockholm Syndrome. Now that isn't an issue for you, Scott, but there is public resentment at the perception of your 'jet-set' lifestyle. The District Attorney is being pressured to file charges against you and it's being led by the tabloid frenzy that surrounds this case." Davis' expression hardened. "I had my doubts until I got a look at your medical records. When you were in the emergency room, they took extensive chest and abdominal x-rays as well as some of your forearm and hand. They all showed evidence of multiple, old fractures of various bones and other evidence of prior trauma. Scott, there is nothing in your background to explain this except for pervasive physical abuse suffered as a child."

Ignoring the shocked expressions on the Tracy's faces, Davis continued. "The present limited life you lead could cause some resentment in a 30 year-old man, but add the evidence of your x-rays into the mix and I have a probable motive for your actions against your father. I haven't submitted my report yet because I did want to discuss this with you," Davis added at Scott's silence. "I personally don't think a jury would blame you for your actions, and you've certainly suffered for it. If you decide to plead guilty, I'm sure that the DA's office might consider a deal."

Scott shook his head and leaned across the table. "I don't know where you got your ideas from, but I have _never_ been abused by my father! If I choose to live at home until I'm a hundred, it's nobody's business but my own!" His good hand curled into a fist. "How dare you say that I had anything to do with Slater and his plots!"

"Scott! Son, please control yourself," Jeff said softly. "Davis, you do understand that there is no physical evidence against my son. He'll have the best lawyers representing him and I have no doubt that he'll be found not guilty."

Davis smiled sadly. "Y'know, I really do empathize with Scott. It's hard enough to separate yourself from your parents without a strong-willed father over-protecting you. Yes, your lawyers can drag this thing out for many years and Scott will probably be found not-guilty. But at what cost? What reputation will he have left? What kind of life? Go back to your island and spend his days as a playboy whose name is always linked with scandal?"

"Father, this is impossible," declared Scott. "I'm not guilty of anything and if you want lawyers, you'll get them!"

Without taking his eyes from Davis, Jeff said, "Davis, if I could completely disprove Slater's assertions and show you that Scott has no reason to resent me, would you recommend to the District Attorney that charges against my son are not warranted? And make it stick?"

Scott's eyes widened. "Dad, you can't! Not for me."

Jeff turned to his son. "All the information I have tells me that Agent Davis is an honest man. I don't think we have a choice. And you're worth saving, son."

Davis watched the interplay between father and son with interest. "Mr. Tracy, if you can show me that Scott is unlikely to ever have conspired with Slater, then you'll have my backing and my gratitude. I don't want to prosecute anyone who doesn't deserve it."

Jeff took the tape and slipped it into the overhead reader and the screen on the wall lit up. It showed an overhead shot of the Golden Gate bridge, crumpled in the waters of San Francisco bay. "This is footage from the second San Francisco earthquake, five years ago."

"Yes, I've seen similar footage," Davis said without interest. "I haven't seen this particular shot, though."

"No, you wouldn't have," said Jeff. "International Rescue doesn't allow photography of its rescues, but that doesn't mean we don't film for our own training purposes." In the film, a pair of huge grips lowered and reached into the water, attaching to a small red car and slowly lifting it out of the water. "Do you recognize the car, Agent Davis?"

Davis had stilled at the mention of International Rescue and sat, his eyes glued to the screen. "That's my wife's car…she and my baby daughter were on the Bridge when the quake hit. They dropped into the water when the bridge went and water was pouring in…when…" The film showed the car being deposited on dry land and a figure in International Rescue blue with a blue sash ran to it and opened the door. A dark haired man pulled a baby out of a car-seat and began giving her CPR while the woman cried hysterically nearby as paramedics draped blankets around her."

Davis turned his gaze to Jeff and Scott Tracy. "You!" he said to Scott in amazement. "You saved my daughter. She's almost six years old, now. My wife still refuses to drive across the Golden Gate bridge, even though it's been rebuilt. If you hadn't been there…the authorities were overwhelmed after the quake and if you hadn't been there everyone on the Bridge would have died that day…."

The film stopped. "I guess you know now what my profession is," Scott said softly. "All that old trauma you saw on the x-rays—it isn't exactly a safe job. But the health plan is pretty good," he grinned at his father.

"We hope that you can keep this a secret," Jeff said, tucking the tape back into his pocket. "We believe you to be an honest man and hope you will understand that if International Rescue is to continue to exist, our current field commander," he nodded toward Scott. "needs to be available to fill his role."

Davis gulped and closed his folder. "Well, you've certainly answered my concerns. Pretty definitively. I'll discuss it with the District Attorney. I know him well and the idea of charging Scott filled him with as much distaste as it did me. I don't think there will be a problem. Scott will still be needed as a witness, though."

"I don't have a problem with that," said Scott. "Just please keep our secret so that we can help others, like your wife and daughter."

Davis nodded vigorously and leaned to shake their hands. "I owe you more than I can say. I understand now."

**LATER **

While Jeff piloted the Tracy One home, Scott was thoughtful. "Dad, I know why you did it, but you really shouldn't have."

"Scott, secrecy is important, even vital for International Rescue," Jeff said. "But in the end, nothing is more important than the people who make up the organization. I am not prepared to throw you to the wolves to ensure International Rescue's safety."

Scott looked sadly at his left hand. "Even if I'm not a member any more?"

"You're more than a pilot, son. You have years worth of experience that is irreplaceable. It's your brain and your judgment, not your hand that is needed by International Rescue. Your brothers have followed you to Hell and back and will continue to do so because they trust you. As do I."

Scott looked out the window and blinked the tears back. "Okay, Dad. Let's go home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**One Week Later**

**Office of Marian Shultz, Microsurgeon**

"You want me to what?" Scott asked Dr. Shultz. She smiled sympathetically and tapped a finger on Scott's unwrapped hand.

"The infection is clearing and we're ready to think about reattaching your finger. Medicine has come a long way in a hundred years and reattaching amputated limbs has much better outcomes than it ever did back then. But the fact remains that smoking damages the body's ability to circulate blood. When we reattach your finger, the best possible circulation is vital to allow the transplant to take."

Scott found himself clutching his injured hand. "You mean that if I keep smoking after the operation, it may not work?"

"That's correct. Now, I know that they've cured lung cancer but you should know that smoking is devastating to other body systems." She peered through her glasses at Scott. "I understand that you're something of an athlete?"

"Yes, I try to stay in good condition," Scott replied in puzzlement.

"As you get older, do you find that your colds last longer? That you get out of breath more easily?"

"Doctor, I'm only in my thirties," Scott said desperately. "I'm not old yet."

"But you'll age faster if you keep smoking," she said placidly. "It's your choice. If you smoke after I've repaired the circulation in your hand, the operation could fail and you could lose the hand to gangrene." She picked up her clipboard. "I see that your brothers have accompanied you today. Are they smokers, too?"

Scott nodded. "The whole family smokes. How am I supposed to handle that?"

"I'm afraid I can't advise you about that, except to tell you that second-hand smoke is just as bad. You can't be around it and hope that your hand heals properly. So, you stop now and in two weeks I see you again for the first surgery?"

Scott nodded dumbly and watched as she re-wrapped his hand and followed her out to the waiting room.

Virgil and Gordon closed on Scott as the door shut quietly behind him.

"Scott, what's wrong?" demanded Virgil.

"Yeah, what did she tell you?" added Gordon

Scott looked at them both with an expression of abject misery. "I have to quit smoking or the operation won't take."

**Four Days Later**

**Tracy Island**

"Is he always going to be standing out there on the balcony?" Alan asked and knocked some ash off his cigarette. "We never see Scott anymore."

Virgil put down his drink and eyed his brothers through a blue haze of cigarette smoke. "You know what the doctor told him. When we light up, Scott has to leave the room. "

"Yeah, but honestly, he's been on that balcony for so long, you'd think he was planted there," Gordon commented and ground out his smoke. He eyed his oldest brother and sighed. "I know what he's going through and he shouldn't have to give up Thunderbird One." He paused. "Okay, that's the last cigarette for me. Scott's right, smoking isn't very good for us in any case."

"Hey, wait a minute," exclaimed Alan. "They've cured lung cancer; it's not as bad as it used to be."

"Doesn't matter," Gordon shook his head. "Look, we'd risk our lives for Scott out on a rescue, wouldn't we? Is this any less important? This isn't gonna be easy, but I'll try."

Virgil looked down at his cigarette and ground it out next to Gordon's. "Okay, I'm in," he said.

His two older brothers glared silently at Alan until at last Alan put his cigarette out. "Okay. Me too." He paused. "But can't I even smoke outside?"

"No," said Virgil. "You're either quitting or not. There's nothing in between."

"Oh, all right," said Alan reluctantly.

The family dinner that night was strained, for no reason that Jeff Tracy could see. Scott was home, safe and seemed to be recovering well. Gordon hadn't played any practical jokes lately, so no one was holding any grudges, yet all of his sons seemed awfully tense.

"All right, out with it," Jeff finally said. "What's going on?"

"What?" asked Virgil "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're all jumpy tonight, you're tense. Is something going on that I should know about?" Jeff looked to his eldest son, who usually knew what was going on. "Scott?"

"I don't know, Father," Scott said. "Nothing that I know of."

Virgil, Gordon and Alan exchanged glances until Virgil sighed. "Okay, Father, I guess you'll figure it out eventually. If Scott can't smoke, we won't either. We've given it up, too."

Jeff's eyebrows raised. "Really? Well, that's a great show of solidarity for your brother's predicament. I'm very proud of you all."

"Well, father?" Alan asked.

"Well, what?" Jeff replied in a puzzled tone.

"Aren't you going to quit smoking as well? You smoke a pack a day, last time I checked," Alan said smoothly.

"Um…well, I hadn't really planned…." Jeff met the combined level gaze of his four sons and gave in to the inevitable. "All right, I'll quit too. It should improve our health and our efficiency as a unit."

It wasn't easy, Scott later reflected, trying to change a long-standing habit. He was grateful that the rest of his family had taken such a drastic step to try to help him. He suspected that Alan and his father occasionally took secret cigarette breaks elsewhere on the island, but the air wherever Scott happened to be was smoke-free.

**April**

**Mendocino County Superior Court, Fort Bragg, California**

**The People of the State of California v. Theodore Slater, .**

Scott walked back from the stand and seated himself back at the counsel table, rubbing his sweaty hands against the tops of his suited legs. He had testified for the past two days, and then been cross-examined by Mr. Baring, the defense attorney. He didn't think he'd done badly, at least the deputy district attorney looked satisfied. Davis had been as good as his word; the DA had determined that charges against Scott were unwarranted.

Thank God that was over. He looked down at his left hand, still scarred but more functional and usable. His finger had been successfully reattached and although various parts of his hand and finger were numb, it was improving. He did his motion exercises religiously. The scars where the axe had hit him remained bright but they would fade with time and further surgeries. Best of all, he could fly again.

A week ago, with Father's assent, he and Virgil had taken Thunderbird One for a spin around the island. Virgil was there to take over if Scott lost control but hadn't been needed. Scott sighed with relief, remembering how smoothly she'd taken off into the sky, then sailed into level flight. With Virgil's grinning agreement, Scott had taken TB-1 through barrel rolls and loop-the-loops enough to make any pilot airsick. Any pilot but Scott Tracy, that is.

Gordon told him later that Father had watched their antics from the balcony, first with white face and pursed lips, then, as it became apparent that Thunderbird One was going to stay in aloft, moving into a big grin. After Scott had set her down with a gentle thump, he found his father waiting to hug and congratulate him on a successful flight.

Now, this was the last thing and he could put Slater behind him. The early parts of the trial had been hard. John had come down from Thunderbird Five to attend, so the entire Tracy clan sat in the observers' section directly behind Scott's table, watching the proceedings and silently supporting him. When the prosecutor introduced the pictures of Scott in the hospital, he'd heard his brothers gasp. Scott himself had felt a bit nauseated.

Slater's two partners had already pled out for shorter sentences and had testified against Slater in this trial. All that was left was was for the Defense to present its case, then turn it all over to the jury. As far as Scott was concerned, Slater was ancient history.

Alan and Gordon had already given Scott their opinions of what the jury would do, when they all met for coffee during a break.

"Do you see that blonde in the front row?" asked Gordon. "She hasn't stopped looking at Scott since the trial began. Scott, I think she's falling for you."

"Oh, c'mon now, that's ridiculous," said Scott, sipping his coffee, carefully holding the mug in his right hand. His left was still numb in spots and he had to be careful with hot liquids.

"No, I think Gordo's right," said Alan with a snort. "And the brunette in the back row isn't any better. They've both been leering at you , big brother. I think you've made two friends!"

"Well, all I hope is that the jury is fair," said Scott, finally. "I don't plan to date any of them."

Scott smiled a little at the memory. Okay, maybe the blonde was kind of good looking…He heard a rustle and turned his head to the Defense counsel table to his left. Slater, neatly dressed in suit and tie, had stood up. Interesting. The D.A. had told him that it was unusual for a criminal defendant to take the stand; something about having a right not to incriminate themselves.

"I'd like to call Theodore Slater," said Mr. Baring. The judge nodded, and Slater walked around the counsel table and began to pass the Bailiff's seat. Then he suddenly dove at the Bailiff, knocking him down, snatched the Bailiff's gun and pointed it at Scott Tracy.

Scott just stood dumbfounded, then slowly raised his hands. He could see Slater walking slowly forward until the gun was pressed against Scott's chest. "You always got the breaks, RichKid, didn't you. Even now, you show up in court in your designer suit and half the women in the courtroom are swooning at your feet," Slater snarled. "Look at you! I locked you in that cabin for a week and damn near killed you, and you don't have so much as a scratch on you now!" He gestured with the gun. "There's no real justice in this world." He made eye contact with Scott. "I may be in prison for a long time, but I'll still outlive you," Slater nodded toward the courtroom door. "Stay ahead of me. We're leaving."

Scott held his hands up and began to slowly walk down the aisle in the crowded courtroom. As he walked, he made eye contact with Virgil, then Alan, then Gordon. Each one looked helplessly back at him. None of the Tracy's were armed; it wasn't allowed in the courthouse. Last, he met his father's eyes and saw love and blind terror in them. He and Slater walked through the courtroom door and into the marble hallway outside the courtroom.

Immediately someone shouted "Down!" and pushed him to the floor while someone else, a deputy? Shouted at Slater "Drop your weapon! Drop it now or I shoot!" From the floor, Scott saw Slater make eye contact with him, smile and aim the gun in his direction. Before Slater could pull the trigger, he went down in a hail of bullets from the two deputies' guns.

Scott could feel himself flinch with every shot fired, then found himself standing flat against the wall, watching as the deputies walked over to the fallen Slater and kicked his gun away. The second deputy went to Slater's body, checked for a pulse and shook his head.

Scott was still standing there when the courthouse door opened and the observers began to file out. He couldn't take his eyes off the body of the man who had declared himself his enemy.

"Son, are you all right?" His father's voice came from beside him. "Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott said in a hoarse voice. "I'm okay. I'm not hurt."

"Come on, son," said Jeff Tracy. "It's been a very long day. Let's go home." He put his arm around his eldest son's shoulder and led the family out of the courthouse.

On the jet home, Scott turned to his father and asked, "Dad, how do you deal with envy? I mean, you've earned a fortune over the years. What do you do when someone chooses to hate you just because you have money?"

"There isn't much you can do," Jeff replied tiredly. "I try to make sure that we use our wealth to benefit society. But there will always be those who envy us, whether it's our technology or the money." He paused. "What they don't understand is that I would give everything I own to preserve the things I value most, without exception." He glanced over his sons, seated around him. "Top of that list is my family, my sons. If I lost any one of you, I'd be a poor man indeed."


End file.
